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lover of the devil

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Ren doesn’t thank him.

It’s Hux’s job to assure his safety and as far as he’s concerned that is all that happened.

As the days wear on though, long, arduous days spent laying virtually motionless in the medbay, waiting for his traitorous body to heal his mind begins to wonder. At least they removed the bandages on his face. The wound scarred, he would have been foolish to think that it wouldn’t. He still finds himself reaching up and tracing it in the solace of the darkness though, and a bitter scowl twists his lips every single time.

It doesn’t matter.

He wears a mask for a reason.



Hux visits often.

Ren suspects that it’s on orders from Supreme Leader Snoke, wanting to make sure that his recovery is going according to plan so they may resume their work.

It’s not, and that’s the issue.

Two weeks later and he still struggles to do something as basic as sit up. Walking is even more exhausting, he’s out of breath by the time he makes it down the hall and it makes his chest ache with frustration.

Ren doesn’t relay this information to him, he reads it himself in full detail in his medical report and frowns in disappointment but never voices it.

It doesn’t fit. Hux, General Hux, the same man that had once scolded him over the very droid he had created as a child, now refuses to seize the opportunity to question him on his recovery.

He wants to ask sometimes, but then again, his own thoughts are self-deprecating enough. If they don’t spur on his recovery then nothing can.



It’s night when he comes again.

Ren is curled up on his side, the covers drawn close to him. In the faint light he looks terribly pale and far too small.

Far too human.

He can feel Hux lingering in the doorway, watching him. Maybe if he ignores him he will eventually leave.

“I know you’re not asleep.”

The words hit him like an insult. This is his private room where even though Hux may be invited inside during the day, he has no right to intrude unannounced at an hour like this.

“I assume you have a reason for being here otherwise you wouldn’t be imposing yourself in such a way.”

There’s a pause long enough for Ren to wonder if Hux even planned on speaking. “Yes.”

“Say what you have to say and leave.” He means to sound imposing but his hands are still clutching the blanket and the word pathetic strikes closer to reality.

“I worry about you.”

His fingers tighten around the blanket until his knuckles turn bone white. “That’s not your job.”

“Was it my job to find you almost dead with snow clinging to your wounds?”

There’s something akin to concern masked seamlessly behind a taunting tone and it makes Ren want to look over his shoulder and see his face. He doesn’t though. His back continues to stay turned towards him, maintaining his impassive façade.

“Leave.” Ren grits through his teeth because there is nothing more for them to discuss. This conversation was over before it even started.

He feels Hux’s eyes sweep over him one last time before he finally leaves.



It takes another week and a half for him to be discharged.

The doctors warn him to take it slow, to not wear his heavy robes or the helmet as it will delay the completion of his recovery and potentially even cause him further injury.

He nods along to their instructions, carefully memorizing them.

Once the doctors leave, he orders two Stormtroopers to bring in his robes.

Putting it on takes effort, and he’s half way done when he realizes that maybe he should have asked for assistance. Hux comes to mind when he pulls on his stitches a little too much, but he silences those thoughts with gritted teeth and finishes dressing.

He walks a little slower, a little stiffer. No one points it out though, no one dares to, except for Hux.

“The doctors told you not to wear it yet.”

They’re alone in Ren’s quarters now and Hux should count himself lucky that he hasn’t been made to leave yet.

“You read my discharge report.”

It’s an accusation rather than a question but Hux feigns ignorance to this and answers anyway. “Yes.”

“My robes make me stronger.” And in his mind they do. But they also press uncomfortably against his stitches and he can feel the mask brushing up against the fresh scar on his face.

Pain is strength though. Pain is strength.

“You are weak.” Hux steps closer to him as he says those words and they almost sound like a challenge.

“I have been weakened.” He corrects. “It’s temporary.”

There’s a pause before Hux continues. “I have been weakened as well.” His tone is softer then, akin to a man confessing his sins and maybe that’s what this is: their own form of repentance.

“Temporary.” He repeats because if he says it enough times it will become true.

“Take off the mask, Ren.”

His first thought is to ask why but Hux is stepping even closer to him, boldly reaching up for the clasps despite not being given permission yet. The permission is silent though, because if Ren held any objections he would have voiced them already and Hux wouldn’t have even had the chance to touch the mask.

It falls to the floor with a heavy thud that Ren can feel in his bones and if he shivered, he’ll blame it on the constant chill inside his quarters. Hux watches him carefully, his eyes sweeping over his face, lingering on the scar. It doesn’t embarrass him, or so he’s tried to convince himself every night since the attack but now that Hux is staring at him he feels the overwhelming urge to look away.

He doesn’t though, and Hux’s fingers just barely trace it before Ren is seizing his wrist in an uncomfortably tight grip. “You are overstepping, General.”

“Am I?” It’s a taunt and a test wrapped up into one sharp question and instead of pushing him away like he should, he’s pulling him in and crushing their lips together in an unceremonious kiss.

Their teeth clash and there are fingers in Ren’s hair, pulling and hauling him closer while his own hands hold onto Hux’s hips in such a way that he hopes there will the bruises there tomorrow. They kiss until it tastes like copper and when they pull apart, Hux reaches up to swipe his thumb over Ren’s lower lip in a far too intimate gesture that only makes him want to kiss Hux all over again.

And he does, he kisses him, slower this time, his hands falling on his waist in a looser grip while Hux’s fingers tangle in his hair once again. Ren pushes him backwards until his knees hit the bed, forcing Hux to sit down as he pulls Ren into his lap with a solid hold on his hips, essentially switching their earlier position. There are fingers undoing Hux’s jacket and with a little help from the force, it’s pushed down his shoulders in no time.

Hux takes a more traditional approach, pulling at the layers of his robes and undressing him as quickly and efficiently as possible before pressing his lips to his neck. Ren moans above his, quietly so, and Hux makes it his personal challenge to coax as many sounds out of him as possible.

“I am no maiden.” Ren warns, pushing him away just far enough that their gazes meet. “I won’t break.”

“You were beaten by a maiden.”

That’s a reminder Ren doesn’t need right now so he shoves him onto his back and claims his lips in a rough kiss, making them taste blood all over again and grinding their hips together despite the uncomfortable tug on his stitches. Hux seems to get the hint then and flips their positions, crowding Ren on the bed and resuming his work on his neck. Except this time, he’s far less gentle.

His teeth sink into his skin, not enough to cause injury but enough to make Ren groan below him, half in pleasure, half in pain and all together those sounds only serve to make his pants feel tighter.

“Put your gift to good use and undress me.”

Ren obeys like it’s an order, and really, it is. While he’s using the force to remove the last of Hux’s clothing, Hux simply tugs on the remaining layer covering the man beneath him, pulling them off and throwing them to the floor in the same pile his own clothes have ended up in.

When they are both naked, Hux can’t help from sitting back on his heels and admiring him. Ren is a vision: long limbs and pale skin, marred only by the ugly scar on his torso that he feels the urge to press his lips to but keeps himself from doing so.

Instead, he kisses down his chest while Ren’s fingers fist in his hair in what could be misinterpreted as an attempt to keep him close had he not be pulling so tightly on the strands. When he starts stroking him, Ren practically arches off the bed with a low whine that cuts off what could have been a plea for more.

Hux is feeling generous, so he indulges him, strokes him faster while claiming his lips in another kiss that’s done mostly in an effort to silence him. The walls have ears and he would rather not have this private moment broadcast for the whole base to hear.

When the kiss breaks, Hux is pressing three fingers against Ren’s lips. “Suck.”

And Ren does without hesitation. Their gaze never breaks as Ren’s tongue moves over his fingers, sucking lightly and coating them with saliva.

It’s a hasty preparation, Hux pushing two fingers into him at once. Ren groans but bucks his hips, urging him to go faster, silently pleading for more. No words pass his lips, only breathless moans and an occasional soft whimper that sounds dangerously close to Hux’s name.

Ren is practically arching off the bed with each thrust of his fingers by the time Hux seizes his hips and all but manhandles him into a proper position for what they are about to do. He’s mindful of the stitches, keep that side of his body flat on the bed while hiking up his other leg over his shoulder and entering him in one smooth thrust.

“I got you.” Hux whispers the words against Ren’s collarbone and with the way his head is thrown back, black hair cascading onto the pillow, it’s entirely possible Ren may not have even heard him.

Ren’s hands come to grips his shoulders, pulling him closer as Hux begins to move. It’s a quick pace just on the side of rough and it’s everything Ren needs. Sporadic kisses are pressed to his chest and neck as more moans fall from his lips. Ren catches his own name being spoken by Hux a couple of times and it makes his heart tighten uncomfortably in his chest.

They don’t last long, Ren finishing first with Hux pulling out before jerking himself off and spilling over his hand, Ren’s name falling from his lips without any shame.

Within moments he’s reaching for his own shirt and cleaning them both clean because it’s the sensible thing to do and Ren doesn’t protest the actions either. He’s still out of breath by the time Hux is done with him and there’s a dazed, almost peaceful, look in his eyes as his fingers wrap around Hux’s wrist.


“I shouldn’t.” Because that is a whole different matter altogether, one far too real than what they had just finished doing.

The grip on his wrist tightens though, pulling him down beside him back down on the bed. It’s a feather light grip and tug, one that Hux could easily refuse and yet he doesn’t. His arms wrap around Ren’s waist instead and it’s almost an intimate embrace. But there are bruises blooming on his hips and Ren’s lips are swollen and there’s just too much anger for it to be anything but a selfish moment of mutual satisfaction and indulgence in a fantasy that could never be.

Still, Hux can’t stop himself from gently kissing the freckles that litter Ren’s shoulders as they relax back on the bed.